Fleshed Out

I look to my left
And it takes
The sight of
A stack
of books
To remember I’m

Some of the greats
Are there

Arduous with
Burning urethrae
Cus of all the poison
They drink and then

Lucky for us gals
These dead monuments
To civilization
Left us with
Fleshed out skeletons
Fluffy, pristine, curvy.

It takes a glance at
That stack to remember
The factories of smoke
Sing to me.
The underpaid
The overfed the
The brilliant

They whistle between
Tooth gaps
And sesames seeds
Burying themselves
In pink gums

I look and I want to
Rip my eyelids off
For a better view
… that’s momentary,
Then I want to scoop
My eyeballs out
Because the shame of beauty
Has christened
My new man conscience
— there is a drought
In my aqua ducts

Sitting ducks
If only
This gold leafed
Where my thoughts

But no.
They are just fleshy
Skeleton monuments
To feeling lonely
And to bursting
With what we can only measure
As joy.


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